


Trust

by the_authors_exploits



Series: Memories Divided by Pain [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, kinda?? honestly dont know what to tag this as..., minor fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: [trəst] noun1. firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone2. acceptance of the truth of a statement without evidence or investigation3. the state of being responsible for someone4. confidence placed in a person





	

Jason knows he’s missing something, especially when he willingly lets the kid get close to him, willingly let him take him home, willingly doesn’t blow himself up, willingly lets Robin wrap him in his cape.

He knows he’s missing something when Damian puts a cup of tea in his hand and a pastry—“it’s a basbousa,” and why does that sound so familiar, niggling at the back of his mind—and he knows he’s missing something when he gladly eats the food, drinks the tea.

He’s definitely missing something when he lays down on the couch, in the middle of Wayne Manor, with hardly any anxiety or fear or pain; he’s missing something when Damian doesn’t leave his side, he’s missing something when he reaches out and pinches a piece of fabric from Damian’s sweat pants between his fingers.

It’s something important too, the fleeting mist of rain just before it pours…

But he’s too tired, too drained, too sad to think it over; he’s done. He wants out; he closes his eyes and listens to the soft noises around him, the tentative way Tim tiptoes about the halls, the way Dick quietly breathes from the other couch eyeing them, the way the pages in Damian’s book flip sharply…

The way Bruce refuses to be in the same room as Jason, a looming silence beyond the doorway yet the booming noise of disappointment. Damian won’t let him near; his katana is always propped near them, currently against the coffee table.

Jason just breathes; he tries to forget, tries to imagine he’s not here, but he’s not healthy enough to be elsewhere. He’s listless, unsure, terrified and reckless, and Damian had promised…

_“You will not be alone.”_

Jason hadn’t thought about it until Robin had bundled him into the back seat of the batmobile, laying him down under the bright cape, as if he actually meant it; and he had. Jason hadn’t been left alone once since he’d been brought to the manor, not even when Damian yelled at Bruce— _at his father_ —in defense of Jason in the cave when they’d first arrived.

_“We are not sending him to Arkham!”_

_“Damian, you don’t know what he’s done or capable of.”_

_“He is not crazy; he does not deserve to be in the same place as his murderer!”_

_“He can get help there.”_

Damian had whirled, grabbed Jason’s hand, and pulled him away, up the stairs, from the cave into the manor and Alfred had smiled, though the shock in his eyes was clear, and had helped get Jason settled in a spare room.

Jason sighs, and Damian glances at him; he can feel the younger’s gaze, even with his eyes closed, and he shifts restlessly only to flop still tiredly a moment later. Damian flips a page, the shivering slice of paper brushing through the air.

Damian doesn’t care anymore; he doesn’t care about safety, about hiding, about being cautious. He’s solely focused on healing Jason; he let the teenager slip away once, and he wasn’t going to let it happen again.

He stares Drake’s suspicious and slightly knowing looks straight in the eye, glares Grayson down when he’s stared too long, lets Jason hold the hem of his shirt when the nightmare memories steal the breath from him, and he grips his sword when Bruce enters the room…

He knows it’s not going to last long, this tentative acceptance of Jason in their life, this docile Jason that jumps when a door is shut too hard.

But he can’t care; he’s too busy planning, plotting. He sets things up on occasion, when he can break away from Batman’s watchful eye on patrol, stocks Jason’s plethora of safe houses. He has to be ready for when it falls apart.

And it does, shortly after Damian’s ensured Jason’s sleeping soundly in their now shared guest bedroom. (He had promised, after all, to never leave Jason alone; and he wasn’t about to trust Bruce to not go behind their backs at the first convenience, to send Jason away. Just like Ra’s, just like Talia…)

“You need to tell us what you know,” Bruce speaks firmly, cornering Damian in the library; Grayson is hovering over Bruce’s shoulder, and Drake tries to act like he’s not taking a side by browsing the books.

Damian clutches the hilt of his katana, gripping _The Iliad_ tighter; he was going to return it, take another one for tomorrow... Jason likes books. “I have no idea what you mean, Father.”

“You’ve been hiding things from us for a while,” Grayson pipes up, then shoves his hands in his pockets. “And it has to do with Jason…”

Damian turns his piercing gaze to Drake. “What do you have to say about this?”

Drake doesn’t look away from the books; “I know you know something… But…” But he’s not willing to drag the information from Damian; Damian knows. Because Drake is practically on their side, on Jason and Damian’s side, supportive and understanding.

Damian leaves him be; “why should I tell you? You hardly care.”

“Damian, this family is based upon trust; if you’ve been keeping vital information from us, then we can’t trust you.”

Fine; he can’t trust them either. “There is nothing to say.”

“Damian,” and that is his serious voice, the one that promises punishment of some sort if he isn’t followed. “You need to trust us, and tell us.”

He finds the slot for _The Iliad_ , pushes it onto the shelf, and takes four steps for the door; he pauses, tightens his grip on the sword. “Do you know Jason?”

They stiffen, pause, and Grayson scoffs. “Of course we do!”

“Do you?” Damian turns to look at them. “Do you know he’s scared of thunder storms, or that he can’t sleep in the dark? Do you know he’ll scream himself awake? Do you know he likes literature? What do you know of him?”

“What do you?” Bruce counters, and Damian actually pauses; he’s not too sure how to answer that.

He knows everything he just spoke, and then some; he knows Jason didn’t deserve to die, he knows Jason doesn’t deserve to be treated this way, he knows Jason is kind, he knows Jason…

Damian raises his head, brows furrowed. “Jason is my friend.”

At this point, he could easily spill everything; every moment he knew Jason for, trying to survive Ra’s compound together, little flickering flames of innocence in a dark, dark world. But he doesn’t want to; he wants those memories to stay his. If he gives them hints, they’ll figure it out on their own; at least he won’t have spelled it out for them.

His memories can still stay solely his; for now, he has to return to his companion.

Of course, it can’t stay like this forever; the library incident spurs something in Drake, and he shows in their room one day. His eyes are wide, and his voice is quiet and panicky as he throws a duffle bag on the bed and forces Jason into a jacket.

“Fuck, Damian!” Tim’s hands shake as they try to fit the zipper together. “Why didn’t you just say it? Do you know what Bruce’s gonna do when he finds out? He’s going to… I don’t even know what he’s going to do! But you guys have to go!”

Damian accepts the duffle bag when it’s shoved into his chest; Drake is not stupid. “How did you figure it out?”

“It wasn’t that hard; how could we have been so stupid? No, Jason,” Drake calls softly when Jason tries to pull away from him. “No, no, lemme do it.” Drake looks at Damian as he packs some clothes. “You would’ve been what? Eight? Nine?”

“Something like that.”

“And he…was he even alive then?” Drake runs a hand through his hair, swears quietly; Damian doesn’t remember hearing him swear before.

“He was; before the Pit.” Damian tucks a trinket in Jason’s jacket pocket, and Jason just looks at him; listless like before, quiet and compliant. “He was injured, and…indolent…”

There’s a haunting pause; “He was like this?”

Damian nods, takes Jason’s hand, and sizes Drake up. “We may be in contact.”

Drake nods; “Go, before Dick or Bruce put the pieces together… God, this is going to be a nightmare.”

Damian goes; he slips out quietly, Jason trailing trustfully behind him. They exit the manor with no instances, they disappear into the night, into the city, across the dirt alleyways, into an abandoned but prepared apartment down on Seventh.

Damian puts the duffle down, filled with clothes and other necessities, and he’s chewing his lip, planning, when Jason speaks up.

His voice is hoarse from its disuse, so little use it’s gotten. “I remember…”

Damian whirls around, catches Jason’s hazy eyes.

“I think I do, but then you’re gone; it’s… I _see_ you…and then you’re gone.”

Damian wants to believe it; wants to believe Jason does remember him. But it can’t be true; the Pit stole his memories like it stole his sanity, or was that Talia who lied and molded him into this? “I promised you no one would hurt you.”

Jason’s gaze sharpens, he breathes in sharply, as if finally seeing for the first time. “I remember… I…I think I do…” A library, lit by sun through windows; men, rough with their hands and sharp with a foreign language; a young boy, barking orders, calloused hands so small guiding him from the room, from danger…

“Do you trust me?”

Jason looks at the boy before him, at this kid who doesn’t fear him, who cares and cares and doesn’t stop. “I do.”

There’s no reason not to.


End file.
